Fates and Traitors (34 page)

Junior left the parlor to answer. “Well, hello, Booth,” they heard him say as he greeted the caller. “Happy New Year.”

Anna gasped, and as the front door closed and footsteps approached, Anna, Olivia, and Nora straightened in their chairs and quickly smoothed their hair and skirts, mere moments before Junior led the most handsome man Mary had ever beheld into the parlor. “Ladies, Weichmann,” said Junior, “please allow me to introduce you to a recent acquaintance of mine, Mr. John Wilkes Booth.”

Mr. Booth smiled warmly as Junior made introductions. The celebrated actor's brown eyes, luminous and fringed with the longest lashes Mary had ever seen on a man, rested on each of them as he echoed their names and bowed politely, his full mouth curving in a smile
beneath a half-moon mustache, his gaze curiously stirring. His wavy, black hair shone like ebony in the lamplight, and his features were as perfect as if they had been chiseled from marble by a master sculptor. “Happy New Year to you and yours,” he added cordially when he had met everyone, his voice rich and musical.

Junior invited him to sit, and as Mr. Booth crossed the room, Mary could not help admiring his lithe, athletic grace. His splendid attire suited him well—fitted black twill trousers, a snowy white shirt, a fine black jacket with a velvet collar, an elegant silk cravat adorned with a diamond stickpin, and gleaming black boots with silver clasps.

“It's kind of you to welcome me into your home on this auspicious New Year's Day,” Mr. Booth said, settling into his chair with a dancer's fluidity. “I have no family in the city, and I confess holidays can be rather lonely.”

“You're welcome here, Mr. Booth,” said Mary, finding her voice. “May I offer you some coffee or tea?”

“Oh, if only you had come earlier,” lamented Anna. “You could have shared my birthday cake.”

Mr. Booth turned to smile at her. “Is it your birthday, Miss Surratt?”

Spellbound, blushing extravagantly, Anna managed a nod.

“Then I am doubly glad to have come.” Rising, he went to her side and kissed her hand. “Many happy returns of the day, Miss Surratt.”

Anna beamed, but she looked as if she might faint and she only reluctantly released his hand when he returned to his chair.

So dazzling and unexpected was their illustrious guest's presence that afterward Mary could not clearly recall the conversation. They discussed the holidays, of course, and the recent cold snap, and after Anna summoned up her courage to ask when they might next enjoy seeing him perform upon the Washington stage, Mr. Booth entertained them with several amusing tales from behind the scenes at the theatre. Noting the piano in the corner, he asked who among them played, and when Anna admitted that she did, he charmingly implored her to grant them a song. Cheeks scarlet and eyes shining, Anna consented, and although her fingers trembled through the opening measures, by the end of the second refrain she played and sang with sweet confidence, and Mary felt immeasurable pride.

All too soon, Mr. Booth rose, bowed, and bade them good evening,
but his enchantment lingered long after he departed, much to the amusement of Junior and Louis, who could not resist teasing the ladies for being so thoroughly wonderstruck by the famous thespian. “You acted much the same when you first met Booth,” Junior said, grinning at Louis, and as his friend spluttered protests, the ladies enjoyed the last laugh.

“Why do you suppose Mr. Booth came to visit?” Mary asked her son after the others retired for the night.

He shrugged. “Perhaps it's just as he said. His family is far away and he didn't want to spend the holiday alone.”

“But you became acquainted only recently. Surely someone as famous and admired as Mr. Booth has a great many better friends in the capital, any one of whom would have welcomed him into their homes.”

“Why should he come here instead?” said Junior, anticipating her question. “I'm sure I'll find out soon. When I saw him to the door, he asked if we could meet tomorrow to discuss a subject of mutual interest.”

Mary's heart thumped. “What subject is that?”

“I don't know, but he said to come alone.”

•   •   •

T
he men had arranged to meet at noon, but not at the boardinghouse, nor at the National Hotel, where Mr. Booth resided whenever he was in the city. Instead Mr. Booth asked Junior to meet him at a tavern near Grover's Theatre, a popular watering hole among actors and managers. Mary and Junior surmised that Mr. Booth had deliberately chosen a place he visited often so that his presence, even with a stranger, would be noted and disregarded as nothing out of the ordinary.

After Junior departed, Mary kept busy to make the time pass more swiftly and to stave off apprehension, but the minutes, and then hours, dragged by. The clock struck three, and Mary and Anna served tea to their lodgers in the parlor, and still Junior had not come home. Nearly frantic with curiosity, Mary did her housework, said the rosary, watched from the windows, and waited.

Junior arrived home just in time for dinner, but although Mary thrilled to see a new eager determination lighting up her son's face, she held back her questions for another nearly unendurable hour until the meal was finished, the dishes were cleared away, and the lodgers had
gone their separate ways. Only then did Junior take her by the elbow and lead her off to the quietest corner of the ground floor, a storeroom in the kitchen where only they, Anna, and the occasional servant ever had reason to go.

“What did Mr. Booth want?” Mary whispered eagerly, holding the lamp while Junior took one last look up and down the hall before closing the door behind them.

In the flickering light, his face appeared as unfamiliar as a stranger's, wild with excitement and somehow immeasurably solemn. “Do you remember how we spoke at Christmas of how some drastic measure must be taken if the Confederacy is to seize control of this war?”

“Yes,” said Mary, breathless, pressing a hand to her heart. “Of course I remember.”

“Mr. Booth has a plan for this very thing, a cunning, daring plan. It cannot fail—it
shall
not
fail—and I have pledged to help him.”

As John confided to her all he and Mr. Booth had discussed, Mary set the lantern on the floor, groped for a stool, and sank down heavily upon it, growing more astonished with every word her son uttered.

Even as President Lincoln celebrated the New Year in the White House by basking in the adoration of thousands of Yankee visitors, thousands of Confederate soldiers languished in Yankee prisons. Their numbers had swelled ever since prisoner exchanges had ceased in the summer of 1863, brought to an abrupt halt by Mr. Lincoln's General Order No. 252, which demanded that the Confederacy treat colored men in Yankee uniforms as they would white Union soldiers, trading them equally, soldier for soldier, for white Confederate troops. It was ridiculous, unconscionable, and yet Lincoln wrote the false equivalency into law and Grant upheld it.

If those valiant Confederate prisoners could be freed, the armies of the South would be replenished, invigorated, infused with new, indomitable strength. The tide of the war would turn, the demoralized armies of the North would retreat to their own country, and the South would triumph at last.

“Mr. Booth cannot possibly think to free our soldiers from prison by use of force,” Mary interrupted, bewildered. “Not when they can scarcely hold Petersburg and Richmond. If we had twenty regiments of Mosby's Raiders, perhaps, but—”

“I assure you Mr. Booth does not conceive of a massive prison break.”

“But surely he sees the folly in resuming the prisoner exchanges. If Jefferson Davis would acquiesce to the requirement that a colored Yankee be treated as the equal of a white Confederate—a notion so absurd, so unnatural—” The very idea so upset Mary that she was obliged to pause and take a breath. “In that case, the Yankee armies would be replenished too, giving us no advantage whatsoever.”

“My dear mother, I said our prisoners would be freed, not exchanged.”

“What on earth would compel the Yankees to free Confederate prisoners if they receive none of their own in return?”

“They
will
receive a prisoner in return, but only one.”

“What? A single prisoner?”

Junior smiled. “The Yankees would empty their prisons of every last Confederate soldier from the highest general to the lowliest private in exchange for their commander in chief.”

It was common knowledge that Mr. Lincoln often fled the heat, stench, and frenzy of the city for his summer residence on the grounds of the Soldiers' Home, an asylum established as a place for wounded Yankee veterans to convalesce. It was about two miles north of the city, a cool, wooded, secluded haven on a hilltop, far enough away from the Capitol and the White House to act as a restful retreat, but near enough for Mr. Lincoln to travel back and forth as required. It was well known too that he often traveled along the isolated country roads alone, without a guard, much to the consternation of his wife and his staff. A small group of determined men on swift horses could overtake the presidential carriage, render him unconscious with chloroform, and carry him off across the Potomac, through southern Maryland and Virginia, and into Richmond.

“The United States government would pay any ransom to have their president and commander in chief restored to them,” declared Junior, forgetting in his excitement the need to whisper. “They would release every Confederate soldier within a day. The Confederate army could be restored almost to full strength within a fortnight.”

Mary's thoughts raced as she envisioned the plan unfolding, her excitement rising even as a doubt tempered it—the long-suffering
soldiers surely would not be recovered enough to take up arms and march to battle within a fortnight. She was unsure, too, how often Mr. Lincoln visited his favorite summer retreat in midwinter. Then it came to her, another profoundly important factor Mr. Booth and Junior had overlooked. “Why squander the most valuable hostage we could ever possess on having our soldiers freed so they may fight again?” she asked, her voice shaking with excitement. “Why prolong the war when we could end it?”

“End it?”

“Yes, my dear son, end it.” She placed her hands on his shoulders and met his gaze firmly. “Mr. Davis could submit any terms he wished, and the Yankee government would agree to everything—an end to the fighting, the establishment of a permanent border between North and South, their acknowledgment before the world that we are an independent sovereign nation. That course would save thousands of lives, countless thousands. It would save the Confederacy itself!”

Slowly he nodded. “Yes. Yes, it could.” He placed his right hand over hers, where it rested on his shoulder. “This would end the war, swiftly and decisively.”

“It will not be easy to capture Mr. Lincoln, even if he does often travel alone.”

“It certainly will not,” he agreed. “So you understand, Ma, why I must consent to join the plot, even at the risk of my life. Mr. Booth needs me.”

•   •   •

T
he next day, Junior went out after breakfast to meet with Mr. Booth again, and when he returned later that morning, he took Mary aside and told her that Mr. Booth had advised him to take certain legal actions to protect the family's assets from seizure should he be accused of treason. “It's only a precaution,” he told her. “I don't intend to be caught.”

He explained that he had signed a quitclaim deed transferring his portion of the Surratt estate to her, including parcels of land, livestock, farm equipment, furniture, and a few mortgages owed to the family. “I also relinquished all claims to property I now own or will own in the future.”

“This seems quite drastic,” said Mary, unsettled, “and final.”

“If you like, you can transfer everything back to me after the war is won.” Junior took her hand. “Ma, it's better to plan for the worst and discover that it was unnecessary than to have the family's assets seized by the Yankees. If, God forbid, I'm caught and charged with treason, the government won't be able to take the boardinghouse and the tavern and throw you and Anna out on the streets. I'll rest easier if I know that you'll be safe.”

In the weeks that followed, the plan came together swiftly, with Mr. Booth and Junior at the center. Other courageous, trustworthy men had already pledged themselves to Mr. Booth, but it was necessary to recruit more, although as a security precaution, Mr. Booth kept the parties separate and did not reveal their identities to one another.

Money was needed as much as men. They would have to buy swift horses to speed their captive out of Washington, and to acquire rowboats and hire oarsmen to carry him across the river. They needed weapons to command his submission, ropes to bind him. Time was a resource even more precious than money or men. Junior devoted himself so completely to Mr. Booth's mission that he soon lost his job with the Adams Express Company, although he told none of the boardinghouse tenants rather than lose the excuse for his frequent travel. This, and all that he and his fellow conspirators did, was with a heightened sense of urgency that they must act soon, before the Union armies ground the Confederate forces into the blood-soaked soil of the South, the government at Richmond fell, and all their elaborate preparations went for nothing.

Mr. Booth visited the boardinghouse often, unwittingly sending the ladies of the household into a flurry of snatching off aprons, inspecting themselves in mirrors, tucking away loose strands of hair, and smoothing their gowns. Mary suspected that, although Olivia had remained sensible, Anna and Nora had fallen at least partly in love with the famous actor, for they begged her to escort them to see him portray Romeo in the benefit for Miss Avonia Jones at Grover's Theatre, and afterward they purchased photographs of him and displayed them throughout the house. Mary did nothing to encourage their farfetched hopes. Junior was alternately amused and exasperated by the young ladies' sighs and silliness, but Louis, who had long admired Anna, became increasingly annoyed by Mr. Booth's frequent visits. Other lodgers
too had remarked how very interesting it was that their boardinghouse was so often visited by a famous actor, and some looked askance when, if Junior happened to be traveling on behalf of the mission, Mr. Booth asked to speak with Mary instead—urgently, at length, and alone.